


Hold on Tight to This Dear Life

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cancer, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nurse/Patient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8038612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: Even if he wanted to take a drink of water, he can't. It hurts. Everything hurts.





	Hold on Tight to This Dear Life

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "Tyler is dying of cancer, and he doesn't have much time left. Josh is a nurse that keeps visiting him in the evenings to read to him. As Tyler is getting worse, they start on their last book - _All My Sons_ by Arthur Miller." 
> 
> translation into русский available: [Hold on Tight to This Dear Life](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5136384) by [Disney](https://ficbook.net/authors/27626)
> 
> -
> 
> [crossposted to tumblr](http://edyluewho.tumblr.com/post/150412102904)

Like stiff cardboard, the curtains are shut and barely wave hello when someone rushes past to hand over a pillow, an extra blanket, water— _water_. "Here," they say, and gently twist the straw to faded lips and tired eyes. "Drink something. You'll feel better."

Tyler stops drinking. He stops moving. Nothing provokes a reaction worthy of importance.

"Drink this—drink this—"

"Hey, do you mind if I read to you?"

The nurse is here again, eager expression and a head of dark curls. There's a book in his hand. There's always a book in his hand. Tyler told him no, told him to go away, but he comes back every evening, sitting in that ugly chair next to Tyler's bed. The spines crack, he licks his fingertips, and he reads to Tyler. Tyler didn't listen, but he listens now, after hearing he was being read _Harry Potter_. Tyler curled into a ball and listened and listened until he grew heavy with exhaustion, and the nurse would leave with a delicate pat to his head.

"Josh," the nurse says one day, another book under his arm and a sad smile on his face. "My name's Josh."

Josh reads to Tyler every evening, never once commenting on how soggy Tyler becomes, thin, weak. Even if he wanted to take a drink of water, he can't. It hurts. Everything hurts.

At seven o'clock sharp, Josh visits, book and smile in toll. "Are you ready?" he asks, in an announcer voice, as he settles down and begins to read. He's on Tyler's bed now, Tyler giving him more than ample room. When he speaks, Tyler is reminded of how life used to be before he decided to give up.

"I'm not going to be here next week, Josh," Tyler says, his head on Josh's chest. He sniffs, throat dry. It's a premonition, and Josh understands how accurate it is.

"You can't go yet!" Josh exclaims, laughing and flipping the rest of the pages in Tyler's face. Old smell, sad smell, sad voice—"Look how much we have left. Can't go until we finish."

Tyler smiles and falls asleep to Josh continuing their session with Arthur Miller's _All My Sons_.

Josh prolongs it, stretches out words, repeats sections. He doesn't want to finish. Three pages left, and there are tears in those dark eyes. Two pages left, and Tyler is crying, too. One page left, and Josh is shaking, and Tyler is ripping the last page and crumbling it. In his fist, the ink stains his pale skin. In his fist, in the tightest fist he's held for months, Tyler holds his ending. He holds on for dear life.

And Josh holds him.


End file.
